


Red Dead Revelations

by Midnightminx90



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom John, Bottom John Marston, Kissing, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Marking, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Kissing, Top Arthur, Top Arthur Morgan, save a horse ride a cowboy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25550935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnightminx90/pseuds/Midnightminx90
Summary: “Why. Did. You. Leave.” The words are staccato, ground out through gritted teeth.-Arthur learns why John left for a year, and it's a far cry from what he expected(smut in c2)
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston (mentioned), Eliza/Arthur Morgan (mentioned), Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde (mentioned), John Marston/Arthur Morgan, Mary Gillis Linton/Arthur Morgan (mentioned)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a soundtrack for this, go look up the album Red Revelations by Jace Everett

“You left Dutch and Hosea, left Abigail and little Jack, and you left…”  _ me _ . Arthur pauses, unable to say the word. “you left the gang.”   
  
“WHY do you still care so much about what I did? You never once thought about it from my point, and you’re the only one who ain’t able to let it go! Hosea left Dutch for Bessie, left for longer than I did, and you know they still loved one another. That ain’t us.”   
  
_ No _ , Arthur thinks, _ they ain’t us. If we were like them, you’d love me back. _   
  
“You’re right,” he says instead, tasting the venom of his own words, “I ain’t Dutch, and you sure as hell ain’t Hosea, but we was still family. At least until you abandoned us. But now Jack was taken and you want him back, you got him back, even after going on about how you thought he wasn’t even yours.”   
  
“‘Cause I do care! I care about the boy, even if I ain’t his father, and I love Abigail, even when it seems she don’t want me around her and the boy.  _ Her _ boy.”   
  
“If you care so much, then why did you leave?”   
  
“Are we really doing this again Arthur? Leave it alone will ya?”   
  
“Why. Did. You. Leave.” The words are staccato, ground out through gritted teeth.   
  
“Because I love you!” John shouts the words out and Arthur freezes, hands fisted, ready to punch. Until now.   
  
“What did you say?” His voice is tight, words barely escaping.   
  
“I love you, you fool. That’s why I left. I couldn’t be with you, and I thought it was cause you had Mary and I had Abigail, and I loved her  _ and _ you, and I couldn’t look at you and know I couldn’t have you, that it was wrong and I thought that Abigail would leave with Jack if she found out.”   
  
“Then what about me? What about my choice in all this?”   
  
“ _ Your _ choice?”   
  
“Yeah,  _ my _ choice Marston. Did you even think about talking to me first? About all of this? Did you even consider giving me a choice? Cause it sure as hell don’t seem that way.”   
  
“Cause I feared I’d lose you! I still do. I cared too much to let you know and you’re right to call me stupid over it, but I ain’t the only fool here.”   
  
“You said you love Abigail and you still left her, so how could I ever think you cared for me, huh?”   
  
It’s all giving him a headache, arguing with John over this. Arthur’s never allowed himself to think about just why John leaving upset him so much, not until now. He always thought that it was ‘cause they were like brothers, sons of Dutch and Hosea, two of the earliest members of the van der Linde gang. But this? This ain’t something Arthur ever allowed himself to consider.   
  
“I don’t know, okay? I ain’t saying I did right by leaving the gang, but I felt I couldn’t think. And yeah, I know, I’m stupid, you’re surprised I can even manage to think most days, so it wasn’t exactly easy to do that when I had to look at you and Abigail and the boy, and know that by daring to go for what I wanted, I’d just lose what I had  _ and _ what I wanted. Damn it Arthur, you never gave any indication you thought of me as anything but a brother, so what was I do to?”   
  
Arthur slams his fist into the side of a tree, anger and confusion rolling through him.   
  
“I don’t know,” he admits defeatedly. “Listen, John, I can’t promise I would’ve taken it kindly, or… or say I would’ve done the right thing. Hell, I don’t even know what the right thing would be!”   
  
“And?” John asks.   
  
“And what?” Arthur asks in return. “What do you want me to say? That I would’ve accepted you? Or maybe that you were right and I wouldn't have wanted you around? Which is it Marston?”   
  
John just stares at him, and Arthur relents.   
  
“I was jealous. I was angry. I told myself I didn’t know why and it was true, at least partly. You leavin’, it meant you did what I never did and by the time I realized I could’ve,  _ should’ve _ , left? It was too late by then. I lost Eliza. I lost my son. And here you had Abigail, here you had a  _ son _ , and you left them. You had what I lost and  _ you left _ . I ain’t ever gonna come to terms with that.”   
  
Arthur’s words causes John to fall silent.    
  
“And?” John asks again, what feels like hours later. “What would you have done if I told you back then?”   
  
The night air is still and mostly silent, apart from mosquitoes buzzing around and the bonfire not too far away. They can barely see the moon peeking through the trees above, which makes the glow of the cigarette Arthur lights glow like a firefly in the near darkness.   
  
“I can’t say ‘cause I don’t know.”   
  
“But now?” John pushes. “Now that you know? You wanna pretend this never happened? Cause I don’t know if I can do that, Arthur. I’m sick of pretending like I have nothing to hide, that when I look at you for too long it’s only cause I wish I was as high up as you are in the gang. That I want Dutch and Hosea to be as proud of me as they are of you - the golden boy.”   
  
John lights his own cigarette, and Arthur suspects the other man is looking for the right words, thinkin’ it through for once.    
  
“‘ _ Just be one thing or the other, not two people at once _ .’ Remember you told me that, outside of Valentine? By hiding what I feel, I  _ am  _ two people at once. I’m just following your advice here Arthur. Maybe you should too.”   
  
For a moment, Arthur looks considerate. Damned Marston being right for once in his life, and damn the consequences.   
  
Before John can react, Arthur pulls the other man with him into the trees, turning at the last moment to slam John’s back against a large trunk, shielding them from the rest of the camp. Then, not giving himself a chance to back away or regret what he’s about to do, Arthur does what he maybe should have done years ago.   
  
John’s lips are rough and chapped against his, warm from the cigarette now fallen on the ground.    
  
Arthur curses himself a fool, about to pull away and return to camp and another sleepless night when John pulls him back in and returns the kiss in earnest. It’s a rough kiss, a far cry from what Arthur’s been used to with Eliza and Mary, but all the better for it, and he can’t help the moan that escapes him as John moves to deepen it.   
  
It’s not Arthur’s first time kissing another man, but it feels different in every way.   
  
This is hard, rough, unyielding. Blood is drawn, the metallic taste mingling with the taste of coffee and their cigarettes.    
Arthur revels in it, but it’s not enough, not after having suppressed it all for so long, and it’s all too clear that John feels the same, based on what he feels against his hip.   
  
His hands trail slowly down John’s torso, then up again to unbutton his shirt.    
  
Arthur curses as his hands doesn’t find skin, but rather the long johns the other man is wearing for some inexplicable reason.   
  
“Why the fuck are you wearing those in this heat?”   
  
“We ain’t all sleeping inside at night, and it gets cold in case you ain’t noticed,” John retorts breathlessly. “Ruin it if you want, you seem desperate enough, but you owe me new ones if you do.”   
  
“Fine,” Arthur growls, and he takes out his knife to cut at the fabric, tearing at the rest once he’s made a long cut.   
  
The torn fabric hangs on John’s frame and Arthur takes a moment to enjoy just how ravaged the other man looks, skin flushed in the pale moonlight, nipples already hardening in the cold that’s not beginning to seep in with the cooler night air. But Arthur knows the cold ain’t the only reason.   
  
He grins as he moves to kiss and suck on John’s neck, using both his hands to pinch his nipples, drawing out moans and making John shudder.    
  
“Careful boy, else you want the whole camp to hear you. Unless that’s what you want of course; then I won’t stop ya.”   
  
John shakes his head, clearly unable to answer properly.   
  
“Well, guess I’ll have to do better then,” Arthur muses, moving his head further down to suck at one nipple, one hand still working on the other, and his other hand moving to grab John’s ass.    
  
“Please,” John grinds out. “Arthur, please, I…”   
  
“You gotta speak louder boy. Tell me what you want.”   
  
“You. Need you. Now.”   
  
Arthur hums, pretending to now know what John wants.. “You got me here. What more you want?”   
  
“You. Your cock. Dammit Arthur, don’t make me beg!”   
  
“As much as I’d like that, I ain’t got anything for that,” Arthur says, sounding apologetic for once in his life, and it sounds so strange in this setting that he can’t help let out a short laugh as he pulls away from John.   
  
He’s really hard, and stepping away instead of giving in is far from easy, but it’s for the better for the both of them this way.    
  
“Why don’t you just take some from Dutch or Hosea?” John asks him, still panting, and laughing when Arthur grimaces.   
  
“Thanks, I really wanted that image in my head. You’re gonna pay for this Marston. But as far as your ideas go, this ain’t the worst.”   
  
“Well, I’m certainly terrified,” John replies, voice dripping with sarcasm as Arthur walks of, mind full of things he can do to drag this out further in his own favour. “And you’re welcome!”   
  
Oh, he’ll show that Marson alright.


	2. Chapter 2

When Arthur returns, it’s with his usual satchel slung over his shoulder, an extra rope and their horses.  
  
“What’s that for?” John asks and Arthur just looks at him for a moment.  
  
“I figured you didn’t want the whole camp to hear us, so I told Hosea we’re going hunting and wanted to get an early start since it’s a long way away. Had to come up with something didn’t I, when he caught me sneaking around in their room. Claimed I was in there looking for one of his lures in case we found a good fishing spot. Knowing him he didn’t believe a word I said, but…” he trails off, shrugging.   
  
John is silent, and Arthur begins to think himself a fool, having read things that weren’t there.   
  
“If you don’t want to, just say so. I ain’t gonna make you do something you don’t want, but you gotta tell me now if that’s the case. I know I’m a killer without mercy but I have my limits John - I ain’t ever touching someone without their permission.”  
  
The only answer he gets is John kissing him again.  
  
“It still ain’t a yes, Marston, and we ain’t doing this unless you say the word.”  
  
John shakes his head, and for a moment it seems to Arthur that he’s about to leave.  
  
“Dammit Arthur. You know I ain’t good with words, especially not when it comes to saying what I want. But God, yes, I want this. I want you. I have for so long, too long to not do this now.”  
  
Arthur nods.  
  
“Alright, then we ride. I know a place we can stay, and ain’t nobody gonna come find us there. Just don’t blame me when the ride back becomes too much for ya.”  
  
He laughs at the confusion on John’s face, then louder as the other man is struck with the realisation of what Arthur meant.  
  
“Don’t worry, it ain’t far. Worst case you’ll have to walk back. Now let’s go before anyone begins asking questions, or see you undressed like that.”  
  
\---  
  
They stay silent on their ride to the wooded area south-east of the Braithwaite manor. Well, what’s left of it anyways.   
  
“You sure we gonna be safe here?” John asks when Arthur maneuvers his horse away from the road to the small house. “There’s those Lemoyne Raiders, and the Braithwait place ain’t exactly far away either!”  
  
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry ‘bout them,” Arthur says. “You see, there’s panthers here, seen one take down a couple of them Raiders myself, and I ain’t seen any of them around here since.”  
  
“Jesus, really? And you thought this was a good place to stay?!” John sounds incredulous, glancing around as though expecting to see a panther sneaking up on them.  
  
“It’s fine,” Arthus replies, “I’ll just kill one of them boars or a deer, leave it out there, and the kitty will leave us and the horses alone. Ain’t the first time I’ve done it. Unless you’d rather we find another place that is. Can’t say the swamps are any better, not with the night folk around, but if you’d rather we go there, or ride further out, to the area between Valentine and Strawberry, or even up towards Colter, then I know of a few other places...” he trails off.  
  
“No, we can stay,” John says hurriedly. “So you come here often?”  
  
Arthur laughs again, noting how good it feels, how rare it is these days, for his laughter to come out as genuine, not forced or sarcastic or at the expense of others. Well, the last part isn’t really true at the moment, but he doesn’t mean anything bad buy it; it’s just that John now seems so uncertain of himself, whereas not that long ago he’d been doing his best to get Arthur naked.  
  
“Why?” Arthur drawls, raising an eyebrow as he eyes John. “You wonderin’ if you’ll see me again after tonight?”  
  
He means for it to be playful, but John stiffens, and Arthur realises that his words came across as meaning something he doesn’t - that tonight will be a one and done deal, that they’ll never speak of it or pretend it ever happened, or worse; that one of them will leave the gang.  
  
“I’m sorry Marston, I didn’t mean it like that, I was just playing along cause you made it sound like you was tryin’ to pick up a girl at a saloon.”  
  
“It’s fine,” John interrupts. “I’m used to your teasin’ me. It is what it is.”  
  
He shrugs it off, but Arthur knows John well enough to know when something bothers him. He just doesn’t know how to fix it. Words are hard, awkward, stilted when it’s about someone he cares about. Talkin’ to strangers, to get something out of them is a whole ‘nother matter.  
  
“Still don’t make it right.”  
  
There’s a long pause, hanging heavy in the air, until John speaks at last.  
  
“So, you gonna kill that boar or whatever, or are we just gonna stand around waiting for that kitty of yours to sneak up on us?”  
  
“You still wanna do this?” Arthur asks, unsure if he’s scared John away now.  
  
“I didn’t come out here with you for nothin’. But you gotta want this too, Morgan, no matter what comes after.”  
  
“I won’t leave you,” Arthur says, the words sounding like a confession. “Not unless you ask me to.”  
  
“Just go,” John says in return, and for a moment, Arthur feels like he’s been rejected, feels what he’s sure John felt moment ago. “But you better come back soon, or I’m startin’ without ya.”  
  
Arthur nods, then hurries off to gather his bow, the lotion to cover his scent and some bait from his saddle, the image of John jerking off spurring him on.  
  
“There should still be a clean pile of blankets hidden under the floorboards next to the rooms with the chains. But stay clear of that room itself, cause it sure ain’t pretty what happened in there. Was this guy who went after escaped slaves; I took him in myself a couple days ago.”  
  
He waits until John’s inside, sure he won’t change his mind in the meantime, then walks silently into the open area south of the building, a place he’s hunted in before, boars and deer mostly, but smaller prey like rabbits and turkeys as well.  
  
Arthur spreads the bait in a couple of places, having enough ingredients to make more later on, and wanting to get this over with.  
  
Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait too long before a herd of boars return, having been spooked by their arrival but still being the least scared of the prey animals who make this clearing their home.   
  
He takes a deep breath, drawing the arrow back, before breathing out and letting the arrow fly.  
  
It strikes true, hitting the jugular of one of the animals, causing the rest to squeal and run away, while the one he hit takes a few staggering steps before falling to the ground with a small thump, the air escaping its lungs but no sound.  
  
When he nears his prey, Arthur sees that it died instantly, and he hurriedly removes the arrow, allowing the blood to pour out of the wound, knowing the scent will attract any carnivorous animals in the area, including the boars who were just sent scattering.  
  
Pleased with his work, but still cautious, Arthur creeps back towards the small building, keeping an eye out for any stalking cats.  
  
Once inside, he places his gear to the side, then looks at John, who’s finished making a space for them on the floor, since the narrow metal frame that makes up the bed holds no mattress, and so they have little choice in this really.  
  
When Arthur approaches, John holds his hand out, drawing Arthur down towards him and begins kissing him in earnest.  
  
“You smell weird,” John says, pulling away to look at him. “It’s not you, I don’t like it.”  
  
He almost sounds like a petulant child and it takes Arthur a while to realise that John’s complaining about the scent cover lotion.  
  
“Do you even know what I smell like?” Arthur asks, curious and cautious all at once.  
  
“Gunpowder. Blood. Mint and other herbs. Tobacco. Sometimes like dynamite and fire.”  
  
“It’s the lotion I use to cover my scent when hunting,” Arthur explains, as his thoughts whirl inside his head at John knowing what he smells like.  
  
“I know that you idiot,” John says. “Still don’t like it.”  
  
“Then make me smell like somethin’ else instead,” Arthur challenges, and John surges forwards, dragging Arthur further down until Arthur is straddling him on the floor. “Make me smell like you, like we’ve fucked for hours.”  
  
The kisses are hard, unyielding, bruising, leaving their lips sore.  
  
Arthur drags his hands over John’s exposed chest, tearing again at the underwear, shoving it and the shirt off of him, hands wandering over every inch of exposed skin.  
His hands travel lower, undoing John’s trousers and pulling them down, alongside the longjohns.   
  
It’s a tangle, trying to rid John of his boots so Arthur can pull off the rest of his clothing, needing for John not to be restricted by them, but they manage in spite of the distractions of John’s needy kisses and Arthur making sure not to touch John’s cock just yet.  
  
Once John’s completely naked, Arthur takes a moment to just _look_ , to observe the pale, naked expanse of his skin, the scars he’s seen a thousand times before as well as the new ones.   
Living as they do, most members have seen most of the others naked, but this is different in every aspect. In camp, it might be from walking in on someone in their lodgings, taking a piss or cleaning themselves in the nearest body of water.   
  
This though, this moment is based on the wants and needs of two people to be together in the most primal way.  
  
Arthur might not have let himself realise his feelings for John until this day, but it doesn’t mean he’s not taken the chances to observe the younger man whenever he could.  
  
“Jesus, Arthur,” John says, breaking the silence, his voice even huskier than normal. “Get on with it, will ya?”  
  
“I’ve barely touched you and you call me Jesus already? Guess I ain’t gotta do more than touch your dick for you to call me God then,” Arthur quips, doing his best to calm himself down so he can stick to his plan.  
  
“Fuck you,” John spits, but the heat in his voice has nothing to do with anger and everything do to with the words Arthur just spoke.   
  
“I’d rather fuck you,” Arthur replies, grinning as he sees the impact of his words, the way John’s cock twitches.  
  
But he does sink to the ground in front of John, one hand grabbing his long hair, pulling his head back as he begins to suck and kiss at his throat, drawing moans from the other man.  
  
John’s hands grab Arthur in return, quickly sliding down to cup his ass, trying to draw Arthur closer, rutting against him as he does.  
  
But Arthur resists, keeping his distance, needing to be in control, at least until he gets what he wants.  
  
He takes advantage of John being less coherent than himself, executing the plan he’d formed back at camp. John doesn’t protest when Arthur grabs his wrists and pins them behind his back, not until his discarded shirt is used to tie his wrists together.  
  
“The fuck is that for?” John asks, horny, confused and slightly angry all at once.  
  
“I told you you’d pay, didn’t I?” Arthur whispers into John’s ear as he finishes tying the knots. “Knowing how much you want me, want my cock in you, I ain’t gonna make this easy for you. You’re gonna have to watch me, waiting, wanting, while I stroke myself, while you’re only allowed to watch.”  
  
He sees something dangerous in John’s eyes, pupils blown wide by lust.  
  
“And if you’re lucky, if you behave and don’t struggle to get loose, or try to touch, I’m willin’ to use that mouth of yours, let you suck me off. Think you can be a good boy for me Johnny?”  
  
John nods, but it’s not good enough.  
  
“Speak up boy!”  
  
“Yes, yeah, I can.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
Arthur undresses slowly, putting on a show for John, doing what he can to tease in the hopes of having John disobey.  
  
Once his clothes are scattered, Arthur pulls up a chair and sits down before he makes a show of dragging his hands down his torso, until they reach his hips. Then, he takes his cock in one hand, spreading his legs like the whores in every saloon in this godforsaken country.  
  
Arthur groans as he touches himself, not fully having understood just how hard he is until this very moment. His head falls back without him meaning to, so he lifts it up again, locking eyes with John.   
He bites down on his bottom lip, almost drawing blood as a shudder runs through him at the sight of John on his knees, close enough to touch if his arms were free.  
  
Arthur sets a slow, gruelling pace, knowing he won’t last long if he speeds up, and he needs John to falter first.  
  
“You like what you see?” he asks, makin’ sure to groan more than he usually would. Life in camp instills the care to be as silent as possible, in order to avoid crude comments from the rest of the gang.  
  
“Yes,” is the simple reply from John, and Arthur grins when he sees the man lick his lips.  
  
Arthur continues stroking himself for a few moments longer, eyes still on John.   
The other man’s cock has been leaking for a while now, and as much as Arthur enjoys the view, he is not without mercy.  
  
“Come here,” he says, rising to his feet as John obediently, and awkwardly, crawls closer.  
  
As soon as he’s within reach, Arthur grabs the back of John’s head with one hand and his own cock in the other, slowly entering John’s open and willing mouth.   
  
“Fuck, John, that’s it, so wet, feels so good, like you was made for this.” Arthur moans as the wet heat surrounding him. He stills himself, focusing on breathing as he had not at all suspected the effect John’s mouth would have on him.  
  
“If it hurts, an’ you need me to stop, blink three times in rapid motion,” he warns, then begins to thrust slowly in and out, holding John’s head in place and looking into his eyes to watch for the moment he needs to stop or slow down.   
  
The pace doesn’t last long, not once John begins to moan around him, causing vibrations to travel up his cock.  
  
Throwing caution to the wind, and trusting that John will let him know if he can’t handle it, Arthur begins thrusting into John’s mouth, hard and fast and deep, feeling the head of his cock hit the back of John’s throat.  
  
John chokes, and Arthur wishes the sound didn’t turn him on any more than he already is.  
  
Looking down, he sees John looking straight at him, eyes dark in the light of the one lit torch inside and the few moonbeams coming through from behind the cracked and missing planks.  
  
Then John swallows around him, and Arthur comes harder than he’s done in a long time.  
  
“John, fuck, aaaah!”  
  
Only at the last moment does he think to pull out, but John chases him, licking at the semen on his face and Arthur’s twitching cock.  
  
“God, Marston. Didn’t know you were so hungry for this!” Arthur says, sinking down again into the chair, legs shaking.  
  
John doesn’t speak, just grins up at him, and it causes Arthur to pull him up into his lap, kissing him deeply, tasting himself. As they kiss, deep and dirty, he reaches down to take John’s cock in hand, and he feels John shudder at finally being touched, can almost taste the deep moan.  
  
Arthur cups John’s head with his other, holding the man close as they continue to kiss, as his other hand strokes John’s cock, faster than he would have liked, because he needs John to get off too, so they can rest for a moment before taking it even further, because Arthur’s promised himself that he’ll ride John during the night, and he’d rather it been sooner instead of later.  
  
John’s cock feels good in his hand, the perfect size.  
  
With a final twist, harder than the previous ones, John comes, his head thrown back as he shouts and ruts into Arthur’s hand.  
  
“Fuck, yes, god, Arthur!”  
  
For a long while they just sit there, slowing their breathing and heart rates, kissing slowly, languidly.  
  
Then Arthur frees John’s hands, the skin red and sore from the shirt. At least he didn’t use ropes as he’d originally planned, because that would have been a lot worse. He’s seen first-hand on many people what rope burn will do to the skin, especially skin as tender as that around the wrist.  
  
“You okay?” he asks John, the other man’s head leaning on his shoulder.  
  
“More than okay, and hopin’ this wasn’t all you had in mind for tonight.”  
  
Arthur laughs, fighting the sudden wish to plant a kiss on John’s head. He doesn’t do affection, not really. He’s done that before, first with Eliza, then Isaac, and lastly with Mary. It’s been too easy to fight against feeling affection for anyone again, except Dutch and Hosea to a limit.   
  
There’s just something about John that brings it out, this softness that’s dangerous for a gunslinger should anyone find out.  
  
“Wanna see if my plans are the same as yours then?” Arthur asks, his voice darker and more gravelly than usual.   
  
He feels John shudder at his tone and words.  
  
“I already told you I want you inside me,” John says as he leans back, looking into Arthur’s eyes again. “I ain’t leavin’ until after.”  
  
Arthur moves suddenly, but carefully, catching John before he falls and instead lowering him to the ground and straddling him.   
Then he starts kissing his way down John’s torso, tasting the sweat and some rogue droplets of come.   
  
When he reaches John’s cock, Arthur takes hold of his hips and flips him around so John’s on his stomach instead. Then, without warning, he spreads John’s asscheeks and begins licking around the openeing, before licking into it.  
  
John bucks up against him, but Arthur holds him down, taking his time until he feels himself harden at the sounds John’s making, knowing John is growing along with him.  
  
“Stay like that,” he instructs, as he steps away momentarily to fetch the tincture Hosea and Dutch uses. Thankfully there was an unused one amongst their storage, which Arthur counts himself lucky for.  
  
The ointment is cold, he knows this from having “borrowed” some before, so he makes sure to do his best to heat it up as he kneels back down.  
  
“Ready?” He asks John.  
  
“Just do it before I have to,” is the growled and muffled reply.  
  
Without further warning, Arthur inserts a finger and John clenches around him. Slowly, Arthur begins moving his finger slowly, in a pale imitation of what his cock will do later, once he’s opened John enough.  
  
To make it easier, he instructs John to get on all fours, and the younger man does does it so eagerly that Arthur feels his own cock twitch at the sight.  
  
John’s ass is truly perfect, and it would be a blatant lie for Arthur to claim he’s never fantasized about it, however unconsciously. He places one hand on one of the cheeks, kneading as he adds a second finger, working to open John up more.  
  
Deciding it’s not enough, Arthur bends down to nibble as the asscheek not covered by his hand, and he loves how eager John is for it, the way he pushed back against him, and it soons earns him a third finger, along with more ointment.  
  
“Enough with the fingers,” he growls out. “Do I have to impale myself on you to get things moving or what?”  
  
“While that’s certainly an entertaining image, I’d much rather stay in control of you,” Arthur replies into John’s ear, voice low and husky.  
  
Deciding enough is enough, he does as John wants, removing his fingers and covering his cock in the ointment. He doesn’t even bother warming it up beforehand, shivering at the cold sensation but knowing he’ll soon enough be buried in the tight, wet heat of John’s body.  
  
He pushes in, slowly, as much for his own sake as John’s. It really wouldn’t do to come too soon, like a teenager with his first whore.  
  
“Fuck you feel so good! So tight and warm, ready for my cock like you was made for this.”  
  
John groans along with him, both trying their best to breathe evenly.  
  
Slowly, too slowly for both their liking, Arthur continues his movement, until he is fully buried within John’s body. It’s almost enough to make him collapse on top of John, as it’s been far too long since he’s done this last. A vagina really isn’t the same, and Arthur’s known for a long time what he truly prefers.  
  
“I’m gonna start moving,” he says, pulling slowly away until he’s almost out, then moving back in, slow at first, then quicker, setting a pace that means he won’t come too soon, but not to slow John’s gonna curse at him for it.  
  
His hands are on John’s hips, grip tight enough to leave bruises the shape of his hands, but Arthur suspects John wants this, will want proof that this finally happened, and there’s a possessive side of him that wants this as well, wants Abigail to look at John and know Arthur gave him what she never can.  
  
“Harder,” John groans, “faster, fuck, more!”  
  
Sure enough, he picks up the pace, using his grip to slam into John, hard and fast, trying to angle his thrusts just right so that he’ll hit that sweet spot inside him that will make John start screaming.  
  
And sure enough, John lets out a guttural moan and almost collapses in on himself moments later.  
  
“Aaaah, fuck, that’s it, right there, more Arthur, please!”  
  
“Have it your way then,” Arthur growl back, snapping his hips harder and faster, not caring how sore and bruised John’s gonna be in the morning. He asked for it, the prick, and Arthur’s not one to hold back.  
  
The sounds are obscene, skin slapping against skin, wet and wanton.   
  
Arthur knows he’s close, but it’s doesn’t feel right like this, as much as he loves watching John on all fours, mewling and begging.   
  
He pulls all the way out, and before John can complain, he flips John over again, so that he is on his back, and then he enters him again, moving to kiss John as he does, nearly bending the other man in half as his knees are pressed against his chest.  
  
As they’re kissing, he reaches down to pump John’s cock in time with his own thrusts, and it doesn’t take long before John comes a second time.  
  
Arthur pulls back, needing to watch John again, not knowing when or if they get to do this again, wanting to commit his expression to memory and maybe he’ll even dare to draw it later, in his sketchbook.  
  
He watches John calm down, doing his best to hold on himself for just a moment longer, despite the fact that John’s ass is clenching around him as a response to his orgasm.  
  
Arthur reaches out, placing a hand ever so gently on the scars maring John’s face, as gentle as he was the first time he’d held his son, as though John is fragile, even though Arthur knows he isn’t. But there is something about this moment, about being locked together as they are, having finally surrendered to their feelings after all these years.   
  
The intimacy of this moment would bring a lesser man to tears.  
  
“I love you too, you fool,” Arthur whispers against John’s lips, before burying his face in his shoulder as he comes, even harder than when John sucked him off.  
  
The orgasm leaves him shaking, on the verge of tears, and he collapses on top of John, content to stay like this for as long as possible.   
Which isn’t that long, because he’s too sensitive, and pulling out brings tears to his eyes.  
  
“Come ‘ere,” John says softly, pulling Arthur towards him before maneuvering a blanket to cover them. “It’s okay, I got you. I ain’t going anywhere.”  
  
They fall asleep like that, filthy and tangled in blankets that are now the furthest thing from clean. But none of that matters. Only that they’ve finally admitted to what they held inside for so long, no longer having to hide it from the other person.


End file.
